Approach this pregnant woman

The woman closes her eyes and clenches her teeth in agony. You notice that everyone else seems to have left, allowing you to approach this woman one on one. You walk up to her and see that she is well on her way to finishing the birthing process. You bend down, intending to simply grab her basket and leave, but as you do so, the woman grabs your arm and with shocking might yanks you down to the ground next to her.

“Hey! I just needed to… just… let me go!” You sternly assert.

“help…” she rasps out. “help…”

You look down and notice that her baby is crowning. You do actually feel bad for her, she looks like she’s going through hell. And maybe she’ll be kind and give you the berries for helping her…

You decide to go ahead and help her. Much to your disgust, you reach down and support the baby’s head as it emerges. You offer her words of comfort as you slowly ease the baby out. Just as its legs are emerging, the baby starts to cry. For fuck’s sake. Once fully born, you take a knife that the woman hands to you and cut the umbilical cord. Hold up, why the fuck does this naked, tattooed, bred sexslave have a hunting knife? Where the fuck did she put it?

“Th, thank… thank you.” She exhales, clearly exhausted. The baby whining doesn’t help. “How can, how, how can I ever pay you?”

You eye the basket of Radodarnost. “I have an idea.”

“What? Do you want me to, me to take you to my master, so he, can breed you? He’s, always looking for a, a fresh womb to sow his, seed in.”

A look of distaste plagues your face and you don’t deign to mask it.

“Although I’m really tempted by your offer - really, I am - I think I’ll opt for something else. While 49% of me is saying my payment should be getting perpetually raped and impregnated, 51% of me says the Radodarnost berries will suffice. Could I have those maybe?”

She shrugs. “T-take them. I needed suh, support. That’s my f-first childbirth.”

You realize you still have the infant in your hands, but at least it shut up. Only 5 minutes it’ll be shut up for the first 6 years of its life.

You hand the woman her infant. “It’s a girl.” You in turn grab the berries out of the basket, trying to pretend you don’t notice the maternal gunk the childbirth has coated your arms in.

You turn to leave.

“I never caught your name.”

You consider lying, but see no harm.

“Herynne. How about you?”

“Oh, I gave up my name long ago. I am just a living cunt and womb. Fucktoys don’t have names.”

You turn to walk away, a little disheartened by the woman’s self-deprecation. Surely she must be under a spell of mind control. You shake your head and return to your tree.